The Gambler
by TheScarlettStarlet
Summary: He lives to gamble.  She wants a ring.   This is Wade Hampton Hamilton's story.
1. Chapter 1

**NB: I wanted to thank everyone in the wonderful GWTW fandom who read, reviewed, and supported "I, Melly". I was floored by the positive response I received. Melly was/is a great character, and I was definitely in mourning for about a week after posting the final chapter. That being said, that was my first attempt at fanfiction, and there were several loose ends/unanswered questions/scenes alluded to but never played out because they did not directly pertain to Melly and the development of her story. That being said, it's Wade Hampton's turn. Remember, (for those who read **_**I, Melly)**_**, there were two years of strife before Scarlett and Rhett's divorce and Melly's birth, so, we'll start there and keep going. There'll be lots more of Amelia Island, Wade's misadventures with Rhett and Mason on his Grand Tour, Ella's wedding, and of course, lots of romance [ maybe even a little smut] along the way. So again, thank you to all of my fabulous readers - most specifically CCGWTW and BlaqueCat13 who reviewed every single chapter. Also, to TheScarlettRose, who loved Wade as much as I did. And to everyone else who cheered me on through the finish line. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy this! ~The Scarlett Starlet**

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><p>1. Enter Wade Hampton<p>

_Mother's gone completely mad._

Wade Hampton Hamilton shoved an unruly lock of dark brown hair from his eyes and wiped a tear-stained cheek, then charged across the hallway to collect his sister. He snatched up her hand, soft with the baby fat of childhood, and pulled it away from the small satchel she had hurriedly packed and managed to drag from her bedroom. "Leave it, Els, we have to go. Now!"

She brushed a gingery strand of hair away from her own face and stared up at him defiantly. "I won't leave my dollies. You can't ask me to leave them here! No! No! No!"

"Put it down, Ella."

"No! You don't understand. I'll have nothing. _Nothing_!" Ella bent over, struggling to reach underneath her bed to retrieve the dolls which had been lovingly stored underneath, but they were just out of her reach.

"You can." Wade tugged hard on her hand and started his stubborn little sister toward the door. "Mother will come to her senses by tomorrow and it'll all be alright. I promise, Els. She'll come back for us. She always does."

Movement at the top of the stairwell caught the boy's attention, and he turned to see his mother standing there, her green eyes flashing angrily, reflecting the light of the candelabra above her.

"Did you not hear me, Prissy? I told you to take them and at once!"

From where Wade stood near the open door, he could not make out the rest of the words exchanged between his mother and their addlebrained governess, but he could make out a barrage of insults directed towards the unfortunate Prissy, as well as the echo of a hard slap. Rain rode the roaring wind that tore through the open windows into the foyer of the Peachtree Street mansion, sending his mother's long black hair flailing from behind her like an ancient Celtic goddess rather than that of a proper Southern lady. If only her anger hadn't been so profoundly directed toward _him_, he might have admired her…

Ella tugged from her brother's grip. "You were at Beau's - you didn't hear her earlier. And its not from the brandy!"

Wade rolled his eyes. How did Ella know about the brandy? She'd clearly been eavesdropping when he'd shared that with Beau, whose father had shared a similar dependence on whiskey since his wife had died.

But he too knew that it wasn't the brandy talking. No, he hadn't seen his mother this clearheaded since Aunt Melly's funeral six months before. Ella broke free from him in that moment and raced across the slippery marble floor to retrieve her precious bag of dolls. Fretfully, she peered up at their mother, in whose presence she was perpetually terrified to the point of being mute. She looked over her shoulder at Wade. "Help me, please."

He sighed, then lifted the bag easily. "Come on, Pork'll have the carriage waiting."

Ella murmured. "Won't Mother say goodbye?"

"We'll see her soon," Wade said.

Ella shook her head. "She won't bring us back this time. She said it to Prissy. We're meant to stay at Tara for good."

"She just doesn't want us here when…_he_ comes."

The howling wind muted the choked screams of Prissy, but Wade vaguely made out a "Yes'm, Miss Scarlett." Prissy's eyes stood out white against the darkness of her skin, her long kinky hair wildly pinned upon her head, her mistress's curses showering down on her like pelts of hail. "Mist' Wade, Miss Ellla, we's gwine. Now."

Wade followed the small black woman out into the storm, reaching his arm over his sister's shoulder and lifted her small satchel easily in his other hand.

"You didn't need to bring all of your dolls," he chided.

"Yes I did," she protested, "we're not coming back."

The butler, Pork, stood at the carriage door, his hat and jacket drenched in the rain. He reached a hand down to assist Prissy, then lifted Ella up into the carriage behind her.

"Safe travels, Mast' Wade. Ah's watchin' out for Miss Scarlett."

_Master_ Wade. The elderly butler had never called him that before. The twelve-year-old boy rather liked the feeling of being somebody's master. He certainly had been the man of the house since Uncle Rhett had left, that much was certain. If only his mother would come around…She would, he told himself - _she would_.

"Thank you, Pork. Set this on Els's lap if you would. It's her dolls, and you know what a store she sets by them."

The butler smiled as he did the boy's bidding, thinking to himself that despite old Mammy's insistence to the contrary, the boy had quite a bit of his grandfather in him, and age would only render the resemblance more noticeable. Gerald O'Hara had been a good man, and Pork missed his old master fiercely - but he saw the old Irishman's spirit in the tall, slender youth before him. If only, Pork thought with sadness, Miss Scarlett would see it too…

"Come on, Mist' Wade," Pork stuck out a hand.

"Not yet," Wade said, "I - I forgot something."

He couldn't leave just yet, not without ascertaining for himself that his mother was alright.

Cold raindrops trickled under his jacket and shirt, sending shivers down his spine. He shook with trepidation and with cold as he reentered the foyer. His mother was sitting on the bottom step, her face in her hands, shoulders heaving as she let out tragic sounding sobs.

"Mother?" he asked hesitantly at first, then a little louder, "Mother?"

"Run away, Wade Hampton. Mother doesn't want to talk to you right now."

Speaking to him in the third person again, as if he were a mere child.

"Mother, please don't send us to Tara. Let us stay the night at Uncle Ashley's while Uncle Rhett's here. We want to see him too. And surely - surely he'll want to see us?" He hoped that the desire in his voice wasn't too obvious.

Clearly it had been; his mother scoffed. "See you? You think he wants to see _you_? He's only coming to keep the gossip down. Not because he cares about _you_ or even me for that matter!"

Wade could feel his heart breaking, but his voice held firm. "Uncle Rhett loves us, Mother. You most of all."

His mother's eyes widened, and she did not blink for several moments. Then she slapped him. Hard.

"Don't you ever dare speak about such things again, Wade Hampton Hamilton! How _dare _you speak to your mother like that? What were you _thinking_?"

Wade was prepared for the slap, else his footing would have failed him. He bit back the callous retort that lay on the tip of his tongue and straightened his back to his full height, which topped his mother's by several inches. He was a man now; and he would not allow anything his mother said to him, no matter how horrid, reduce him to the sniveling pathetic boy he had been, willing to do anything to possess his mother's attention.

"I'll go now. I hope that you will come to us at Tara. With or without Uncle Rhett."

He thought that he saw his mother flinch at his last comment.

"Wade Hampton," she finally managed, holding out her hands with palms outstretched - the age old gesture of peace - "Wade Hampton, I am so sorry."

Wade shook his head slowly, but stood completely still as his mother wrapped her arms around him and placed her lips on his forehead, her fingers running through his hair. "I'm so sorry," she kept repeating, "so, so sorry…"

Wade said softly. "Don't be sorry, Mother. It's not your fault that Uncle Rhett left."

His mother sobbed. "I was remiss in being your mother for so many years, you and Ella and Bonnie all. I didn't love you enough. And I didn't teach you to be good and kind. You must have gotten that from Melly. But you'll learn it from Will, too. And you'll learn how to work the land. Tara needs you. You're Pa's only grandson. It'll all go to you one day, Wade Hampton."

Wade's shoulders tensed, not wanting the intimate moment with his mother to end but also feeling himself fill with dread at the idea of becoming a farmer. He'd been making plans, had Wade Hampton - if he was to take over the store as his mother had always claimed to have wanted, he was going to make it the finest in Atlanta, and the South, for that matter. He did not possess the disposition for hard labor on a farm. But he wouldn't spoil it with that kind of talk, not now…

His mother's eyes flashed again with an odd intensity. "Go on, now. I need time to…to ready myself. Go on, Wade Hampton."

Wade stared up at the staircase in disbelief for several moments, stunned by his mother's quick dismissal, until she disappeared completely behind one of the arched doorways. He turned then, his leather shoes making a squeaking sound as they hit the marble floor when he crossed over it, then opened the door and walked out into the pouring rain.

_Yes, Mother was mad alright._


	2. Chapter 2

2. Called Home

"I'll see what I can do Rhett, but I ain't promisin' a thing," Belle Watling droned, and the gentleman seated opposite her was fairly sure that he had seen her roll her eyes in his direction.

Movement from the back of the room seemed to catch his attention then, and abruptly he lifted his glass and took a sip from it, his attentions turned toward a sable-haired beauty who had entered.

The maddening heat from the roaring fire blazing in the hearth sent sweat trickling beneath Rhett Butler's constricting cravat. It was too tight, as was his jacket. His features felt swollen, his body not his own. Still, he held the crystal glass ever firm in his strong hands, and focused his attention squarely on the impeccably dressed courtesan strolling along the back of the room, presumably to speak with Belle.

"Oh damn it all, Celeste, can't you wait no more?" Belle shouted to her girl as she momentarily lowered her own glass, filled with sherry instead of whiskey. "Look there, there's a customer. Now he's getting away!"

"Non," the courtesan shook her pretty head.

"Oc et non," Belle again turned towards her male guest. "That's all the damned thing ever says. We figure that just means yes."

Rhett raised an elegant eyebrow, then motioned for the girl to come nearer to him. "You don't have to speak French to know that no means no, Belle."

Belle laughed. "Oh she knows the trade. I ain't never been of a mind to force my girls to take on customers they ain't agreeable to. This one's just par-tic-u-lar."

"An attractive quality in her chosen profession," Rhett said, his voice lowered as his eyes swept over the girl.

"Go to it then, honey," Belle urged beneath her breath. "Work your charms." The madam then held her breath and waited. Surely the man would not be able to resist the French courtesan's dark beauty or the seductive sway of her hips. No man could. Celeste was young, but her allure was studied. Perfect.

A shadow fell over the gentleman as the girl passed between him and the chandelier above. He turned, and cupping the edge of his hand over his brow, peered upward, squinting at her impressive silhouette.

"She looks even better with her clothes off," Belle said rather bawdily.

For a moment, she thought at the spell might have been broken. Rhett hadn't wanted women since he had moved back into her place…not even herself. But she was old, especially by her profession's standards. But most of all, Belle knew that she was not her old friend's type. Celeste, on the other hand…

"I'm not at liberty to…"

The muscles in Belle's face tensed briefly, but then relaxed as realization fell over Rhett. His marriage was over. He had no obligation to his wife. Even if he saw her, she reasoned, there was nothing to fear. Rich men taking mistresses was commonplace these days, and even if Scarlett heard about it, it was certainly nothing to warrant suspicion.

Besides, Belle reckoned, Rhett's got needs that have to be met…and if Scarlett ain't gonna meet 'em…well, that was what she was there for.

She brought the glass to her red lips once more.

"Would you like a private room, honey?"

With a resigned shake of his head, the gentleman took one last account of the beauty before him before waving her away, his gold wedding ring still firmly planted on his stubby fourth finger.

Celeste jerked back at his summary dismissal, hitting the arm of his chair with her hip. "Bonne nuit, mon chéri," she growled, leveling a narrowed eye at the gentleman, who was working quite diligently to conceal the amused grin on his lips.

When the girl had left, Belle rested her elbows on card table and appraised the gentleman. His well-shaped form had certainly lessoned in the last five years due to his heavy drinking. Scarlett's fault. But his jaw was still firm, angular and suntanned. He was taller than most men, certainly. His muscular shoulders were broad and—she recalled with particular pleasure his perfect _proportions_ elsewhere in his anatomy.

Poor man. He should have been the greatest gentleman in Atlanta. Married to the gentlest lady, much like that sweet Miz Wilkes, God rest her saintly soul, only more beautiful. Belle had always found highly amusing the number of ladies with whom Rhett's name had been linked, from the upper echelons of society down to the lowest rungs of the prostitutes. This, however, was not a true representation of Rhett's intimate life. Oh yes, Belle knew all about that. She had made it her business to know. He had been her first real lover. And he had paid her in kind, seeing in her a smart, thrifty business head with a talent for making money. In a way, Belle mused, had Fortune seen fit to make her a lady, she and Rhett might have lived quite happily together. But alas, he was a gentleman and she was not. But he was her friend, she, his confidante. And he was hurting, oh yes he was…

Not for a moment did Belle believe, as Rhett seemed to, that he had truly stopped loving his wife…not that Belle minded his declarations of indifference to Scarlett, whom she had never particularly thought worthy of his affections…but she did hate to see him in such a state.

And here he was swearing off women forever. It wasn't to be borne. And Belle would bring as many tender morsels for his appraisal as she had to...surely one would tickle his fancy…surely one would break Scarlett's spell.

"C'mon Rhett, surely one gal wouldn't hurt," Belle implored her friend.

He shook his head solemnly. "Not wise."

An annoyed grunt pressed through Belle's lips as she stood up and meandered behind him. Running her fingers through his dark hair, she ran them down next over his shoulders and made her final plea.

"If you're gonna sit here and stew over Scarlett all day, then why don't you jus' go down to Tara and tell her what's on your heart?"

"No."

"Well, then you gonna sit up here and feel sorry for yourself forever?"

Rhett hesitated for nearly a full minute, but it was clear by and the way that he kept licking his cracked lips that he could already envision the conversation's end. With her thumb, Belle massaged the temples of his forehead with her fingers in a rhythmic motion.

"There is Wade and Ella to consider."

Belle rolled her eyes. "If that's how you want to think of it."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"If only to see how you still feel about her," Belle prodded.

"Nothing has changed. Nothing."

"Well, then that's that."

Rhett flashed her a dirty look.

"Get." Belle said. "Get. Go home."

Rhett sighed heavily, then twitched his lips upward. "You're a damned persuasive woman, Belle Watling."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks, sonny," she smirked, taking in one last appreciative glance at his departing frame as he quit the room.

Home, he thought to himself as he walked down the grand staircase of Belle's sporting house. What was home? Charleston? He had only managed to stay a week before he felt compelled to leave again…the memories were nearly as overpowering there as in the horrid hell-house on Peachtree. Scarlett, damn her, had a home to run away to…

Hell. He was a damned fool.

"Monsieur?" Celeste was standing in the stairwell, one perfectly formed leg dangled tantalizingly before him.

Rhett looked at the French woman with appreciation. "I'm afraid not, my dear. I fear that I've been called away and must not delay my departure."

Digging into his coat pocket, he fingered a handful of bills and handed the stack to his lovely new acquaintance.

"This should see you a new trinket. I am sorry that I cannot give you more...satisfaction."

"Merci, monsieur." The dark-eyed mademoiselle caught the stack and with a grin, stuffed it into her bounteous cleavage. "And do not worry yourself." She flashed a coquettish smile his way. "But then, perhaps another time, oui?"

Rhett grinned, for the first time in months, but kept to task and started down the footpath.

"Monsieur, where are you going?" the French courtesan called out, a tinge of curiousity licking her thickly accented words.

"Home," Rhett shouted back over his shoulder. "I'm going home."

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><p><strong>NB: As always, thank you so very much for the reviews - next chapter, we'll get to see the full, unedited account of Rhett and Scarlett's "encounter" at Tara!<strong>


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